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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25659442">Of Course, But Maybe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/delikitty/pseuds/delikitty'>delikitty</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fruits Basket, Fruits Basket (Anime 2019), Fruits Basket - Takaya Natsuki (Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Like jesus, Shigure is soooo messed up, but i cant help liking him anyway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:00:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>490</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25659442</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/delikitty/pseuds/delikitty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a small thought, just a passing whisper: </p><p>Shigure wonders when he first saw Tohru as a woman. </p><p>(It isn’t love. It is something, but it isn’t love.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Honda Tohru &amp; Sohma Shigure, Honda Tohru/Sohma Shigure</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Of Course, But Maybe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>every word is my own, except any spelling mistakes or grammatical error</p><p>Oh, and unfortunately Fruits Basket as well.</p><p>This is just a writing rant of mine, perhaps i will add another chapter... we’ll see</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shigure is an author. It is not unusual that he finds himself in these bouts of still retrospection every now and them.</p><p> </p><p>And when he sits like this— cross-legged on the tatami mat, his arm leisurely propped on the windowsill, face turned to the world outside, where it is so warm and sunny that, if he were in his dog form, he’d let his long tongue loll out to taste the sugar sweetness of the passing breeze— his mind wants to wander far away from where he currently is. </p><p> </p><p>It starts with a small thought, just a passing whisper: </p><p> </p><p>Shigure wonders when he first saw Tohru as a woman. </p><p> </p><p>Well, that’s not true, is it? He’s always seen her as a woman (the dog in him won’t let him forget) but her femaleness has always been qualified by the fact that she is a high school girl, ten years his junior; she keeps a photo of her dead mother, whose quotes she parrots out to everyone she deems of needing it;</p><p> </p><p>And she cooks for three men, two of which who are her classmates and dear friends (and his relatives). And she cleans in exchange for her room until everything is spic and span for him to gaze upon as he returns home, feet almost sliding across the polished wood. And she calls out “welcome home” as he crosses the threshold, the sound clear and sweet, and he is always surprised to hear it, because he’s not sure there was ever a time when he’s ever heard it so often before.</p><p> </p><p>Then there is her <em> smile</em>. That famously warm and inviting smile. All her cards and intentions on display for the world to take and see. Full of acceptance and purity. The very same smile that makes two boys falter and soften,</p><p> </p><p>and a man ten years her senior to muse about in the middle of day. </p><p> </p><p>Shigure’s fingers jolt. He is a writer, not an artist. He cannot draw anything other than stick figures and childish poop pictures on unsuspecting cheeks and foreheads. But he wants to put a pen to paper, to scrawl across the crisp white sheets in black curves and straights, to give life to the form that resides in his head that has suddenly became the shape of her—</p><p> </p><p>Ah, he is getting ahead of himself. Shigure blames it on the dog. </p><p> </p><p>“What?” Akito’s irritated voice breaks his thoughts, and Shigure turns away from the light of the window to look at Akito’s eyes, dark as the shadows in the shaded room. </p><p> </p><p>The corners of his mouth lift. Akito nestles closer, and Shigure can feel the coldness of her fingers as she grips his shoulders, punishingly tight. </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing.” Shigure vaguely registers the warmth of the sun on his neck before he closes the window shut. His arms are slowly brought up to touch her back, touching the cool silk of her kimono. </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing at all.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Leave a Kudos and a comment bc I require validation.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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